I was on my way to see my Grandparents this afternoon, and had settled against a wall by the bus stop, tapping a bit of Chocalypse stuff onto my phone, when I sensed shadows crossing my vision, and I looked up to see three girls standing around me, 18 years old or so.

“Hey! Can we have a hug?”

“Sorry er… what?”

Another of them blushes.

“Could you give us a hug, please?”

“Eh, sure.”

One of them goes in for a hug, and then the other two pile in hugging as well. It’s one big, random, bus stop hugfest.

I said something lame like, “Group huddle eh? Can’t be bad.”, and after a few seconds the hug was over, they all beamed at me, blushing, then hurried off as my bus arrived and I, slightly embarrassed, pulled my headphones on and fumbled for change.

Also bizarrely, later on the bus,Β  there were two more hot lasses eyeing me up, flashing coy smiles (and on a couple of occasions underwear) at me through the journey… What the hell? Did we pass reality three stops back?

Maybe the beard was holding me back. Perhaps some hidden tap of previously repressed magnetism has been unleashed! Well lock up your daughters, ’cause this tatty-haired writer geek is hitting the streets without mercy…

Oh alright, he’s slouched in the living room on his own, browsing a Baldur’s Gate RPG site, listening to Sherlock Holmes in French and eating Maltesers while Bonnie the cat engages in fierce warfare against the legs of the sofa.

Yep, on reflection, they were probably all taking pity on me.

Anyway, upon arrival at my grandparents’ house, my Grandad (who, for the record, is an absolute legend of a human being) comes up to me with a grin, holding a pan in his hands.

“Take a look at that, Al,” he says.

I look inside it, and at the bottom are two newborn chicks, still all bloody and goopy from hatching. It takes me a moment to realise I’m not looking at a Chinese take-away.

“Newly hatched,” Grandad says proudly. “Mother hen abandoned them, so I’m trying to keep them alive.”

After a few minutes in the boiler room, where it’s good and warm, they were chirping away, and had begun to move about a bit. We went out for a great meal at the local pub, and when we got back they were still showing signs of doing alright…

Wonder if they will survive the luxuries of my Grandparents’ boiler room. Grandad used to be a farmer, and still keeps hens, so if anyone could keep them alive, he can. We’ll see!

Edit: Ooh also,Β  Liv Tyler’s got back to me, and we’ve arranged to meet up on Saturday afternoon! Sorta looking forward to it, sorta wary about it. Sounds about right!


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7 Responses to “Chicks”

  1. amberbiesinger Says:

    It must have been hug week because I saw a girl and guy walking down the street with a sign saying “Free Hugs” I have to admit I was tempted.

    Why do you sound so shocked anyway?

    \o/ Chickens

    Good luck with Liv πŸ˜‰

    • Alex Masterson Says:

      Not so much shocked as slightly bemused πŸ™‚ In a good way of course, I’m just not really a ‘hug people’ person if they’re not a girlfriend or family, and I don’t get attention in public often enough for me to be used to it πŸ˜‰

      I checked to make sure I hadn’t been pickpocketed, too Β¬_Β¬

      And thanks, should go alright I think!

      • amberbiesinger Says:

        I hug people all the time. Not usually random strangers, but sure a hug a day keeps the crazys away..


  2. Andrew Says:

    I hug people as often as possible πŸ™‚

    And that’s pretty awesome man, but I’m slightly lost. The power of the writing beard was holding you back? Is this possible?

  3. Alex Masterson Says:

    It could well be possible…

    I’m thinking that perhaps while the beard bestowed writing skills, adversely it was doing its utmost to segregate me from human contact whenever possible, so that all I could do was write!

    All of a sudden I’m starting to wonder about the beardly powers’ true source… be wary, my friend!

  4. Jaym Gates Says:

    Were you in America at that point? Because Americans have a very weird thing about Brits. AKA, we want to be swept away to a castle or mansion. Or something. At least, that’s what my coworkers tell me… Every time one of our British customers comes within a mile of them.

    (I’m sleeping with an ex-Brit, so I can’t be too judgmental here honestly…)

    • Alex Masterson Says:

      Oh absolutely; there are entire towns just full of mansions and castles that we sweep Americans away to!

      And “ex”-Brit? Dear me, where did it all go wrong for them? πŸ˜‰

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